


The Zoo

by peacehopeandrats



Series: Once Upon A Time [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacehopeandrats/pseuds/peacehopeandrats
Summary: Quick SummaryGideon now has a young sibling, who gets her hands on the dagger. Things get interesting quickly. There is also a plot twist, which may or may not be obvious.TimingThis takes place before the season 6 finale. The first work in this series was written MANY weeks before the episode actually aired and I was anticipating certain things that would come in the future of the show, like where Gideon was living when the Black Fairy wasn't around. This is the third story in my Once series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory "posting fanfiction makes me uncomfortable" remarks  
> I wrote this one for fun.  
> It, like all the others was actually a dream I had that I have put to words. I didn't really alter this one though. It's basically what I experienced.  
> I still don't like magic.  
> I still can't do magic.  
> And I'm rubbish at explaining what I don't know about.  
> But someone has to fill in the gaps, badly done or not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon's little sister gets her Papa into a world of trouble when she manages to take control of the dagger.

Rumplestiltskin sat at the wheel, spinning; not spinning gold, not making anything cursed or magical, he was simply spinning, remembering a time when this wheel and sheep's wool were all that he knew. Countless years had passed since that part of his life, years that had been spent on epic quests to find the ones he loved most. He had changed in that span, and while he now had the power to make straw into gold or create a curse that would change the lives of thousands, he had never forgotten that love was the most powerful thing he had ever experienced.

In all of his lifetime it wasn't darkness that had ruled him, but love.

No one would believe this, of course, so he never spoke of it. This truth had, by circumstance, become his best kept secret. It was what he thought of most when he sat at this wheel, watching it turn. The power he had claimed as a result of a single desperate act was a poison that he had taken for the sake of his first born child. As unpredictable as a genie's wish, the darkness had since corrupted each of his best intentions into the actions of a cold, hateful beast. It made no difference to anyone that his future as a Savior had been ripped from him and, as a result, all of his decisions were permanently, repeatedly mangled into nightmarish scenarios. No one gave a thought to the fact that with one snip from the Shears of Destiny, his own mother had ensured that no matter how deeply he tried to do the right thing, it would reliably contort itself in the end. The dark outcome of his decisions was what everyone chose to remember, not the hopeful intention. 

His twisted fate made a difficult life, knowing that the best way to prove his love was to be honest to his family, yet also aware that they would never believe what that honesty had to say about the man known as The Dark One. Magic came with a price. The price he payed for his desperate need to protect the ones he loved was this constant misunderstanding of his soul, for at times, even those closest to him chose to see rather than understand.

Still, his wife and two youngest children were alive, and if they could live and breathe and be happy, Rumplestiltskin could live with his reputation, even accept it. Love comes at more of a cost than magic. He knew that as well.

So the Dark One sat, mindlessly watching the spokes of the wheel, feeling the wool slip past his fingers, like the grains of sadness that had piled up to make the dunes of his past. He had walked through so many realms to come to where he was now, and though it had been a painful journey, he always tried to remember each step. Watching the wheel helped him, it always had. Its hypnotic movement sorted his most treasured memories from those that were the most excruciating. Spinning reminded him of simpler times, of deep love, and of everything that he wished he could tie together into the true happiness that always seemed just out of reach.

Sun filtered through the dust-smeared window of the basement where he sat, meaning the storm outside had passed, but the man at the wheel barely registered the change in ambiance beyond the new warmth on the sleeve of his house shirt. He was envisioning his wife's jewel-blue eyes and the smile that lit up his heart with pure joy every time he saw it. 

Belle had always flirted with the line between contentment and displeasure when it came to their relationship. That was understandable, since she had first known him as her captor in the Dark Castle. Though she had joined him willingly, it was still in the position of servitude and that was a smudge on their relationship that he knew would never truly fade, even after he had let her go, even after she had returned again and again, even after their wedding, reunification, and the birth of their children. There was always that distant yearning to be free of the monster who had initially caged and terrified her. He couldn't blame her for that, but he also knew that neither of them could deny what had been in their hearts from the beginning.

Since their time in Storybrooke, he and Belle had come to a sort of understanding of each other's emotional needs. Though it had taken years, Belle had learned to accept his outbursts and rarely fought against them any longer, giving him his outlet, then a moment to collect himself. She could now let him magically hurl something into a wall, smashing it to pieces, and then calmly ask him if he was finished with his display or if the action had eased his pain. This change had actually shortened Rumplestiltskin's moments of rage into something that seemed nearly tolerable to everyone, which was a magic in itself.

It had taken longer for Rumplestiltskin to learn that when Belle was angry, rather than trying to cling to her for fear of losing her, he needed to allow her to drift on her own. When she was frustrated, he knew she needed to be given space to sort out that frustration, the work of which was something that could not involve him. His fear of being alone far outweighed any help he could do for her and only made matters worse in the end. There had been a time when magic had been his outlet for these urges, when he had caged her or tracked her with some spell, out of the desperation to keep her safe at his side, but that wasn't as much the case now. He had recently found, through their love, a way to contain his emotions in a way that he used to before the darkness made its home inside him. 

Magic was, however, still a part of being the Dark One and though Belle didn't prefer it that way, she had almost grown accustomed to it. Most of the time she was content enough as things were, but when the temptation to use the darker arts arose, that was when the past reared its ugly head and reminded them both of their history together. It was also what set Belle into her more temperamental moods.

This morning had been one of those times, where husband and wife had confronted each other in a relatively mild disagreement over his decision to help Regina. The fact that he had given assistance wasn't so much the problem as his use of magic had been. He had insisted that a simple sleeping spell, hidden within a letter, could do no harm if the mayor had come to him specifically for help with her insomnia, while Belle was currently of the opinion that memory clarity was what Regina had asked for and that sneaking a sleeping spell into the letter rather than giving her a the requested potion was deceptive.

Without thinking, Rumplestiltskin had brought up the time that his wife had asked him to use magic to break into Gaston's locker in the underworld. It was an act which he had assumed she would consider to be one of malicious intent, meaning he would be using magic for dark intentions. She was, however, convinced it was using magic for good, since she was looking for a way to save him. Eventually, Rumplestiltskin had done as he was told, to please her, though his point of what was wrong and what was right had gone unproven. During this morning's discussion, he brought this example up as a way of trying to define the line she had drawn in the sand, make it more concrete. Belle hadn't been amused.

So Rumplestiltskin had been left at the kitchen table while Belle set off determinedly for the library. Her library, the one he had given her when she arrived here. The destination alone was enough to tell him that this was an argument that would take time to heal, but at least had that chance of cooling between them. Had she gone ahead of him to open the pawn shop that the family owned, there might have been more hope for a speedy recovery. Going to the library meant only a forced separation, not total abandonment. If she were truly angry with him beyond his ability to reconcile their differences, she would not have chosen to spend her time in a place that had been his most precious gift to her. For this reason, Rumplestiltskin had hope and was willing to give Belle all the time that she needed. He was a man who played a long game, if he had to. He only needed to find a way to control his emotion long enough to let her heal.

He hadn't wanted her to go out in the rain and the thunder of the early morning, but he hadn't wanted to argue over something so trivial as wet clothing or mussed hair either. Belle, strong woman that she was, clearly didn't need his protection from everything she encountered and though it hurt him to think of her wandering cold in the rain, he had remained at the kitchen table and watched her leave, guaranteeing her this time to herself and her own decisions, knowing there were far worse things for her to encounter on the road than a few drops of water.

Knowing the chair and his death grip on the table's edge would not contain him to the house for long, Rumplestiltskin had moved to the basement, where he listened to the creak of the wheel as it turned in front of him, sifting through his memories with it's familiar rhythm. When Belle had first lived with him in the Dark Castle, he had begun to hear the wooden sound as a kind of song, imagining that the object before him was joyously reveling in the happiness that Belle had brought to his life. Now, and whenever she had been away, the creaks reminded him of tears, the sound of the wheel weeping for the light lost from the room whenever Belle left it. 

So many things he had shared with this large, wooden companion, so may daydreams and desires; all secrets it would never tell to another soul. How long had it been since he sat here, simply spinning for the sake of having those moments to himself? 

Hidden among the sounds of the wheel, came the click and groan of the basement door, shifting on its hinges as it opened. 

“Papa?” The voice was Gideon's. “Mum needs my help at the library. Can you watch the baby until I get back?”

The wheel spun and creaked, then it stopped, suddenly. Rumplestiltskin's hand held it fast, his whole body still, as he pondered the oddity of these happenings. Gideon shouldn't be here... Or maybe he, himself wasn't supposed to be here... There was /something/ in his son's sentence that struck him as completely fabricated, as if someone had snapped their fingers and changed their relationship all in an instant. Yet even while questioning this strange feeling, Rumplestiltskin agreed to take on the task, as if it were the most natural thing that he could have done. 

“Of course.” He smiled happily, shifting his upper body to catch a glimpse of his youngest son, now a man, holding a little girl against his side. There were thirty years between brother and sister, but that didn't bother anyone in a town with magic. Still, there was something very wrong about the sight. The feeling left a strange taste in Rumplestiltskin's mouth and massaged his mind with prickly fingers, creating a tingle that electrified him with a wariness that he had not needed in a long while.

The son, seemingly oblivious to his father's long, confused pauses, simply smiled in return and moved to exit the basement the way he had come in.

“Gideon?” Rumplestiltskin finally called out in need to stall the man's departure, a delay to allow the unusual feeling to resolve itself, needing it to be addressed.

His son stopped, turned. “Yes?” The toddler on his hip reached out for the light beyond the stairs.

“You called me 'Papa.” The statement, which was almost a question, paused in the air, as if hitting a solid barrier somewhere between father and son, it muffled and died in the space between them before Rumplestiltskin spoke again. “You've never called me that before...”

Gideon frowned. “I'm sorry. If' you'd rather-”

“No,” interrupted the older man, standing to join his son with a warm, genuine smile growing on his face, “Of course I don't mind you calling me 'Papa.' I was simply curious... Why now?”

Gideon shrugged, throwing off the question with ease. “First time for everything?” He smiled and took one final step into the sunlight.

Rumplestiltskin exited the basement behind Gideon, closing the door as he left. The wet grass of the yard moistened the cuffs of his house pants, a sudden, sharp reminder that the yard needed mowing. With a few soft words and a loving smile, he reached out to take his daughter from her older brother's arms. “There's my girl,” he cooed happily at her smiling face and her brilliant eyes, so like her mother's. “What do you say you and I walk around the yard a little now that the sun is out? Hm?”

His daughter, who had just started making sounds resembling “yes” and “no” at random occasions that were not always applicable to the situation, laughed happily and pointed to the small garden at the side of the house. Her verbal reply, “nuh,” sharply contrasted her eagerness to remain outside.

Gideon chuckled and took a step away, then returned to his father's side, asking politely. “Do we need anything while I'm out?”

“I don't think so. We'll be fine.” The answer was for his son, but spoken to his daughter.

The young man started to leave but Rumplestiltskin felt the need to stop him. Everything seemed so very right, and yet there was still something very, very wrong. He felt that if he could only catch and hold on to whatever flighty notion prevented him from recalling the truth, everything would fall into place. 

Then, as if with the simple blink of his eye, whatever phantom had upset him was suddenly gone, life was normal again, all was right in his world except for the distance his wife had put between them. “Gideon. If... When you see your Mum... Tell her I love her.”

“I will,” Gideon smiled in answer, before leaving in a puff of purple smoke.

Rumplestiltskin stared blankly into the air for a long time, as if gazing intently into the space vacated by his son would settle the unease he was experiencing. There was something about this entire situation that was completely out of place. 

His daughter babbled incoherently in her sweet, tiny voice, another girl breaking a spell that had settled on his mind. He smiled at her and bounced her once as he settled her against his side. Nestled like this, in his strong arms, she laughed. 

“Come on, then. I promised you a stroll, didn't I?”

The two meandered around in the grass between the basement entrance and the back of the house. It wasn't much space to roam in, but there was enough for the girl to look at that it kept her attention for a while. Rumplestiltskin talked as they wandered, naming each of the plants as they passed and occasionally explaining what they could be used for. He stopped when his daughter reached out to touch a rose bush with large flowers, each a solid shade of of the lightest pink.

Rumplestiltskin quickly held her hand. “Careful,” he warned softly. “Roses have thorns.” Finding a petal that was about to fall from one of the flowers, he plucked it and held it closer for his daughter to see. “Do you know why I keep this one bush with all the red ones?”

Joyful chatter was his only answer.

“When your mother first came to live with me, when we were just starting to fall in love, one of the first things I noticed was how her skin was the lightest, most beautiful pink and looked just as soft.” He could feel his eyes growing misty as they recalled the image of her gazing up at him after falling into his arms, the warm glow of the sun on her face. The memory blended with a time when she perched on the table, his finger waggling just in front of her nose, accusing her of wanting to know his weaknesses, all in jest, of course. Those blue eyes, that playful smile, his finger so close that he could reach to caress her cheek... “Every time I see these petals, I think about her. That is why I planted them, back when I thought she was lost to me forever... And the first time I brushed my hand against her face, here in Storybrooke, I realized I had been right, that her skin felt just like this...” He gently caressed his daughter's cheek with the petal.

The baby smiled and became still, apparently enjoying the feel of the softness on her face. After a few strokes, she reached out and plucked the petal from her father's fingers. She put it to her mouth and quickly made a face.

“Hm, Well, the taste isn't for everyone,” Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly at her. “Probably not the best thing for babies. Why don't we go inside and get you something you _do_ like to eat? Are you hungry?”

With her encouragement, Rumplestiltskin crossed the rest of the yard and moved inside.

The kitchen was slightly cooler than the outside world and provided some relief from the mild humidity after the rain. It was odd that the change between the two locations felt to be such a drastic one, hitting them like a curtain as they entered and sending a shiver over Rumplestiltskin's body. He hadn't remembered it feeling so muggy outside in the sun, the ground had been damp, but he hadn't felt overheated. The Dark One, daughter on his hip, entered gratefully, even though the room felt empty with his wife's absence. 

Rumplestiltskin gently set his daughter into her chair at the table. The girl searched the room with her eyes, head swiveling one way and then another, before saying softly, “Ma.”

Trying not to let the sadness he was feeling leak into his voice, her father swallowed before he answered her. “Your Mum went to her library for a while. She'll be back soon.” There was a hint of hope in his words that he simply could not conceal, not that a child of such a young age would recognize it for what it was. He gave her a smile, which he felt quickly fade, then unbuttoned the jacket of his suit to help his body cool.

“How about you and I have some of the leftover fruit for our snack?” Crossing the room to the refrigerator, father took out a small container and held it so that daughter could examine it. He already knew what her response would be, as this was her favorite snack, but he loved to see the joy in her eyes as she experienced having it offered to her.

“Nuh!” 

Unable to contain his chuckle, the Dark One returned to his daughter's chair and joined her at the table. “No fruit?”

“Hmmmmmm,” was the next answer he received, a hand reaching out in anticipation of a morsel or two.

It took less time to eat their snack than it did to clean up after the shared meal, especially since the messiest of the two of them protested greatly over having her face and hands wiped clean with a wet cloth, but after much fuss the deed was done. Clearing away the empty container, Rumplestiltskin lifted his daughter out of her chair and carried her around the counter, into her play area in front of the cold, empty fireplace.

“Now,” asked Rumplestiltskin as they settled on the floor together. “What should we play with?” His daughter reached toward one of her stuffed animals, then scooted herself closer so that she could pick it up and hold it. “Ah. You get to have the rabbit. I see. And what animal should I have, then, if I can have one?”

The girl thought for a minute, then pushed herself to her feet and toddled over to where she kept some of her other things in a basket. When she turned around she was holding one of her bath toys, a turtle that belonged upstairs. 

“And how did this turtle come down here, hm?” Rumplestiltskin chuckled as he accepted the toy, unable to block the idea from his mind that at least she hadn't given him the wooden crocodile on wheels to pull along on the floor. He turned the turtle to face him. “I think that someone will have to go back upstairs when we are finished playing.”

His daughter returned to him and unceremoniously plopped herself into his lap in the way that only young children can do. She settled against his chest, sliding one hand under his jacket while the other managed the dual task of thumb sucking while desperately clinging to the ears of her rabbit. House clothes were definitely a necessity when dealing with children this age and for the first time Rumplestiltskin realized he should have been wearing his before this play time began.

“I think someone might be ready for a nap soon,” said the girl's father, somewhat confused again. This was not her normal routine, he was certain of that, yet the harder he thought about their typical schedule, the less he could come up with about what they usually did next. Frustration filled him, then faded with a blink of his eye and the gentle touch of the small hand that rested against his heart. “How about instead of playing, we tell a story about Turtle and Rabbit? Does that sound good?”

The small head nodded against his chest.

“Well then... Once Upon a Time, there was a soft, fluffy rabbit who lived in an enchanted forest. She spent her days eating clover and carrots, but what she loved most was to sit by a little stream that trickled past her home. Every morning, after breakfast, the rabbit would hop to the water and watch it twinkle in the sun. Then, one day, something small and green fell with a splash from the grass into the water.” As he said this, Rumplestiltskin gently “dropped” the turtle toy off of his leg and made it land upside down on the floor beside him.

A master of playful voices, the Dark One naturally put on a special turtle voice when it came time to tell the creature's part. “'Help!' I fell and I am stuck,' said the turtle, kicking his feet in the air.

“The rabbit listened and slowly came to the edge of the water. 'I will try and help you,' she said.”

The rest of the story was put on hold as the girl's head leaned closer to peer down at the turtle on the floor. It was still rocking a little from where her father had left it on its back. A frown crossed her face and she looked up at Rumplestiltskin.

“Yes, well, if you want the happy ending, you have to listen to the whole-”

Suddenly, as his daughter gazed accusingly into his eyes, Rumplestiltskin was filled with the urge to save the turtle, to turn him right side up and let him move again. “You are so much like your mother,” he told her as he reached out and carefully righted the turtle. “There we are. Rabbit's new friend is safe.”

But rabbit's new friend wasn't only safe, he was beginning to move on his own.

Leaving her father's lap, the girl ended her thumb sucking to clap her hands with glee, then move over to where the turtle was, so that she could better see him.

“How-” Rumplestiltskin stopped himself, answering his own question by examining the scene before him. There, in his daughter's hand, was the dagger. She must have been holding it while he was telling the story and then pulled it from his pocket. Thinking quickly, he reached out to draw her into his lap again, but found that he couldn't quite get his hands to make contact.

“Darling...” He forced a smile to remain on his face and hoped that his concern wasn't too obvious. A toddler in the middle of a temper tantrum was the _last_ person anyone would want to control the Dark One. “If we're going to play with the turtle, we should put that down. Can I have it, so he doesn't get hurt?”

His hand forced itself away from her and he stood up, with the sudden, complete understanding that it was time to get something to feed the poor, upset turtle.

Deciding that cooperating might give him a better chance of regaining control, Rumplestiltskin gave in without hesitation, fetching some lettuce from the kitchen and bringing it to the animal that was once a bath toy. “Here we are. A snack for Turtle,” he said with a smile.

As his daughter watched the turtle munch away, he let his hand slowly creep closer to the dagger. Just before he could touch it, she yanked it away, making a “yuh” sound and holding up her rabbit.

The desire to bring the rabbit to life was too great to resist and with a flick of his hand, the stuffed animal became a living, breathing brown ball of fur that was struggling in his daughter's arms. He watched her carefully place the creature on the floor and sighed as she gripped the dagger's handle tightly in both hands once she was free of her squirming bundle. 

This was going to be more of a challenge than he thought, watching his daughter scurry over to her basket, the Dark One could not help wondering which was the worse fate, being held captive by a wicked witch or by his own child.

The girl triumphantly held up a small, stuffed bluebird that Snow White had given her for her birthday. It was the type that chirped when it was squeezed and without hesitation, she pressed it to the floor, then, as its song filled the air, she held it up for her father to see, trying to copy it's song with squeaks of her own. She was learning quickly, obviously her desires to have real animals were translating themselves into commands that her father simply followed without hesitation.

In the blink of an eye, the bluebird was flapping its wings and singing a much more natural, whimsical song as it alighted on the ledge of the fireplace, watching the antics of the rabbit and the turtle below. Both the turtle and the rabbit were trying to share the lettuce and the turtle was repeatedly snapping at the rabbit's nose in order to keep it away.

Rumplestiltskin rose and made his way to the kitchen again, promising to bring a carrot for Rabbit, in hopes that “out of sight, out of mind” would work to his advantage. If the creatures in the living room could provide enough of a distraction for his daughter, he might be able to take his time between this moment and the fulfillment of her next desire. While she was preoccupied, he quickly reached for his phone and dialed Belle's number. There were several rings before she picked up, and before she could say a word, or even take a breath, he started to explain his situation.

“Belle, listen. I know you don't want to talk to me right now, but I need you-”

“Rumple-”

“Belle, _please_. I don't have time!” He tried to keep his urgent tone to a whisper. “The baby has the dagger.”

There was a very long pause before Belle answered him, sounding mildly confused. “Can't you just... take it away again?”

“I've already tried,” he answered. “She clearly doesn't want me to have it back right now, and as long as she is holding it I have to do _exactly_ what she wants, the same as I would with anyone else.”

“So you wait until she puts it down and-”

Rumplestiltskin cut her off. “She wants her toys to be alive.” Glancing over the counter, into the other room, he quickly took stock of exactly which objects were within sight as he spoke. 

Belle's voice came to him as he was taking inventory. “It can't be-”

“That bad?” Rumplestiltskin frowned, trying not to sound angry, but feeling his frustration rise. “Oh, it can. She doesn't seem content for them to just be moving objects, she wants them to be _real_.” He let that sink in for a moment and when no answer came from Belle, he clarified the situation with a whisper, “Right now she is focused on her bath turtle, the bluebird from the Charmings, and the stuffed rabbit, but I am looking at what's left in the room-”

Now he had her attention, he could hear an intake of air on the other end of the line. “What else is there with you?”

“Chip and Dale, the wooden crocodile pull toy from Emma and the Pirate... and her stuffed tiger from Jasmine, to name a few.”

The sound of scuffling came quickly over the phone, then he heard Belle call out their son's name. “We'll be there.” The phone went dead.

Hanging up, Rumplestiltskin moved to join his daughter where she was playing. The turtle was still happily munching away, but the rabbit had moved on to where a pair of stuffed chipmunks sat motionless on the bottom shelf of a book case, it was nosing at them and suddenly one toppled to its side.

Predictably, the girl frowned, then looked up at her father, who was compelled to bring life to the “helpless” form, and then set it properly on its feet again. The poor thing, terrified, darted in behind other objects on the shelf and remained cowering in the darkness.

In this moment, there was a puff of purple smoke to his right, and Rumplestiltskin turned to see Gideon, with Belle at his side, raising a curious eyebrow and trying not to smile. While Belle went to pick up their daughter, his son spoke, not bothering to hide how entertained he was by the entire affair.

“I hear things have been... interesting,” Gideon mused.

“Not as interesting as they are going to be if your Mum-”

“Can't get this out of our daughter's hands?” Belle, with her daughter perched at her hip, victoriously displayed the dagger, taking care to keep it well out of the girl's reach.

Rumplestiltskin sighed with relief. “Thank you.” With the flick of his wrist, all of the animals returned to their original motionless, lifeless forms, the bluebird falling from the mantle, the rabbit dropping, mid-hop, to its side.

“This place would have been a zoo if we hadn't gotten here,” grumbled Belle. “Didn't we talk about where you were going to keep this?” She displayed the dagger again, as evidence against her husband's inability to be trusted. Both her daughter and her husband reached for it, but she denied them. “This kind of magic is too dangerous to have round our daughter, Rumple, I won't allow it.”

“We did discuss it.” Rumple relented with a humble sigh, finally being allowed to step forward and take the dagger from her. He glanced at it, then looked around the room. “I just don't understand. I only keep it in my jacket when I go out, you know I agreed to that. I _swear_ I didn't have it with me this morning.”

“You didn't. At least, you weren't wearing the jacket when I left.” Gideon nodded to his father's attire; the usual full suit that he wore when he left the house. “You were in your house clothes this morning.”

Suddenly there was a loud crash from the kitchen and Rumplestiltskin spun around, but instead of finding himself looking at the counter, he realized he was looking at the ceiling. The room was darker than it had been only a moment ago, and the floor felt soft underneath him. Blinking twice to try and clear his head from the dizzying realization that he was not where he should have been, he turned his head to discover Belle, rolled onto her side the way she was every morning in the hours before she woke.

Rumplestiltskin realized instantly that he was still in bed. 

“How is this possible?” His mumbled question filled the room with concern, the fog of his mind covered him far better than the blanket and he glanced down at his attire, no suit, no dagger in his hand, only the light cotton pants that he usually wore on the evenings he came to hold his wife when she slept. His spoken words were not the help to clear his head that he hoped they would be. Carefully his fingers roamed over his brow and scalp, searching for evidence that he had fallen and injured himself.

The bedclothes rustled as Belle stirred and and settled into her usual place on his shoulder, stilling Rumplestiltskin's movements as he instinctively wrapped her up in his arms. “What was that sound?” Her voice was a soft murmur, filled with dreams and distance as she came out of her slumber.

“Nothing to worry about,” Rumplestiltskin told her gently as he kissed the top of her head. “I expect Gideon is trying to make breakfast for us.”

Gideon, home, downstairs... They had been talking just a little while ago, but not about animals, their conversation had been about Regina and the past. Memories returned in a rush. He had told his son to sleep, had worked a spell in the basement, and then came upstairs to hold Belle through the night. Some time later... there had been a shadow, a feeling, something that he had noticed, but only for the shortest of moments, before he found himself at the wheel. Now that he could think clearly, Rumplestiltskin was certain of what had happened, his son had used the Sands of Morpheus on him. He couldn't help but smile.

After many minutes of listening to the noises downstairs, which were sometimes normal, sometimes rather clumsy, Belle couldn't help but chuckle. “It's good to have him home though.”

“Yes.” The Dark One's answer came out low, at almost a whisper, and stretched out for much longer than it should have.

Knowing her husband better than anyone, Belle lifted her head and gave him a playful look. “Rumplestiltskin, what are you thinking?”

He chuckled in answer, keeping his thoughts to himself as he had become so used to doing, then kissed her by way of distraction, gently at first, but with a growing passion that brought his body to press against hers until they had rolled to a point where he was looking down into her eyes. When the kiss ended, he gave her an amused smile. “How about...”

Belle raised her eyebrows, waiting for the rest of his sentence to follow. She got a kiss first, but was soon rewarded with the rest of his thought.

“We try for another...” He knew that they couldn't, of course, not since The Evil Queen had gotten her hands on the potion that had sped up Belle's pregnancy, but the dream felt so real that the possibility had consumed him with the joy of the chance.

She couldn't help but smile, her lips turning up at the thought, but the excitement not quite reaching her eyes. “Now? With Gideon down there desperately trying to make us breakfast?” The clatter of a pan and a loud grumble could be heard, right on cue, to punctuate her question.

“I have a hunch,” Rumplestiltskin said to her. “That he would make a very good older brother.”

“Well, he'd certainly _be_ older," she huffed uncertainly. " _If_ we managed.”

Rumplestiltskin pouted at her playfully, the way he used to when he was covered in scales and teasing her about some random nonsense back at his castle. “If you'd rather I let you get ready for the day-” He moved to get up, but was stopped by a desperate hand.

“No,” Belle quickly insisted, clinging to him and pulling him closer. “This time... I believe you, with all of my heart...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the family is sitting at breakfast, Rumple begins to realize Gideon might have plans he hasn't spoken about.

There was no mistaking the scent of burnt food that filled the lower part of the house when Rumplestiltskin descended the stairs, it filled the air like a colorless cloud, though the windows were cracked open, presumably to circulate some fresh air into the building. Turning from his place at the sink, Gideon gave a sheepish smile. “I haven't exactly mastered the art, I'm afraid...”

His father smiled warmly at him and took a seat at the table, scanning the food that had been left there for the family to consume, all of which seemed edible at a glance. It wasn't until he looked over at the counter that Rumplestiltskin noticed the coal black bread in the toaster, which Gideon was desperately trying to clear away. “Don't worry about it, son.” He waved off the young man's worry and gestured for him to come sit. “Toasters take some getting used to. I think that one in particular was created by Zelena.”

Gideon crossed the room, obviously trying to conceal his amusement by fixating on brushing the charred bread crumbs from his hands with a cloth, but in the end, his lips rose into a smile, which turned into a chuckle before it became a full burst of laughter. “You may be right,” he finally said, glancing over his shoulder at the menacing device. “It is certainly chaotic and unpredictable.”

Once he had calmed himself, Gideon glanced at the stairs.

“Your mother will be down in a moment,” answered Rumplestiltskin, trying to conceal a smile of his own, though he felt as if the joys of their morning were radiating from him like a sunrise over the bay.

Nodding, his son asked, “When I didn't see you this morning, I assumed you were still working in the basement for Regina. Did you find something to help her?”

Rumplestiltskin gave his son a curious glance, studying the young man's face, trying to determine why Gideon was gently prodding into the events of the previous evening. Perhaps it was the lingering confusion from his very vivid dream, but something seemed out of place with his query, his tone of curiosity feeling forced rather than honest. For now he would let Gideon believe that he suspected nothing, but he would, perhaps, keep a better eye on things in the basement for a while, and he would certainly test him now, to pry out any information he could from casual conversation.

The Dark One waved a hand through the air dismissively before taking a napkin and placing it in his lap. “There wasn't much I could do, just ease her mind.”

“But you said you were going to send her something,” Gideon insisted, sounding both perplexed and anxious in one long breath's worth of words.

“Oh, I did,” smiled Rumplestiltskin. “I made a bottle of some ginger mint tea.”

“Who's sick?” The concern came from the stairway, carrying Belle along with it. She made her way across the room and inspected her son carefully as she took her place at the table. “Gideon?”

“I'm fine, Mother.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled at her. “Regina was here last night,” he confided. “She has been having difficulties with certain... instinctive recollections from the last few weeks, which I promised her I would help with.”

Belle frowned slightly, but nodded. “I see.”

“Matters of the heart,” Rumplestiltskin continued, catching Belle's gaze and holding it firmly in his own, “can't be cured with magic.” He tried desperately to convey all of his love for her as he became lost in the blue pools of her eyes. There was a long moment of silence between them, then she tenderly reached out and took his hand.

“It had to do with more than just the last few weeks.,” she said to him. This wasn't a question, this woman knew him so very well, it was one of the many reasons he loved her.

Rumplestiltskin let out a sad sigh and nodded. “I'm afraid that my history of cruelty to the people of our previous home went beyond those who were considered to be the champions of the realm. This dark curse that my mother started after I was born, the path she unwillingly set me on... It didn't discriminate between hero and villain, it consumed everyone, and I was simply along for the ride.”

Belle squeezed his hand. “We know that now,” she told him gently. “Everyone does, even if they don't show it.”

Gideon smiled, glancing from his father to his mother and back again, but there was something behind the smile that was more revealing to Rumplestiltskin than any words could be. His son was up to something. The curious nature of his reaction was just enough distraction to break the spell of overwhelming emotion cast by Belle's beautiful smile. He took a long breath and began to pass around their breakfast, “Regina came asking for my help and I promised to give it, so I sent her the tea disguised as a potion, along with a note that contained a sleeping spell.”

“You tricked her,” frowned Belle. Rumplestiltskin waited for the beginning of an argument, but none came. Instead his wife smiled again and said softly, “but you did the right thing.”

“Surely there must have been something you could have given her?” The question from Gideon was not exactly desperate, but earnest, almost intense in its determination to be answered. “Is there not a way to sort someone's memories beyond using the memory stones?”

“Oh there are plenty of spells for memory,” answered his father. “I've used one on you myself.”

“Which didn't work,” teased Belle.

Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, elbow on the table, to wiggle a finger at her in play, the way he had done so many years ago to make her smile. “Ah. It didn't work because our boy is so strong, just like his mother.” He reached to tap the tip of her nose gently, and, once rewarded with a grin, turned back to his son. “I don't know of any that would have worked for her particular issue, and simply telling her that if she could sleep her heart would settle on its own... wasn't advice she would have listened to, I think.”

Belle nodded, swallowed a bite of her food. “I'm certain she already knew that.” 

“I'm sure she did,” replied Rumplestiltskin. “She only needed someone to remind her, I think, someone who would understand her position better than the Cricket. All she really needed was her _own_ conscience to guide her. Hopefully one nudge from someone understanding will have her settled again.”

Belle nodded, returning to the breakfast that they had all been munching on. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Gideon, this really is very good.”

“Thank you,” he answered. “I know I made a mess of the toast-”

Belle leaned closer to him, taking on a conspiratorial tone. “I've always hated that toaster.”

Gideon smiled and looked between his mother and father. His stiff manner began to relax as he and his mother discussed Belle's various tricks for dealing with the appliance in question, but his father was discretely studying him. The young man had something planned, that much had been obvious from his actions this morning, and from his presence outside of the basement window last night, observing his father's final preparations. All appearances lead him to believe that Gideon was going to require a memory spell which he was, most likely, trying to put together on his own. Rumplestiltskin thought about asking, but decided against it. 

Though he felt protective out of necessity, his “boy” was hardly that. He was a grown man who was fully in control of his own life now that he was out of the grip of his grandmother's hand. Gideon needed to create his own path and might be driven away if he felt constant harassment or hovering by his father. No, the best thing to do would be to wait it out, so Rumplestiltskin settled into his familiar role as the Dark One; putting together pieces of someone's story and waiting to have a hand in it.


End file.
